


Tears in Rain

by cynical21



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:19:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynical21/pseuds/cynical21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My version of the final confrontation between Master and Apprentice - as I would have liked it to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tears in Rain

TITLE: TEARS IN RAIN

 

AUTHOR: CYNICAL21

 

_I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die._

\-----Roy Batty soliloquy - _Blade Runner_ \- Hampton Fancher and David Peoples - screenwriter

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The small Jedi transport ship settled into the shelter of a narrow stone ledge, tucked midway up the gentler wall of the canyon; though open to the sky, it was concealed to some degree by a wealth of sturdy vines which formed a kind of living curtain, clinging to the rocky soil with desperate tenacity. The pilot shut down the ship's systems quickly, more out of habit than any real hope that the landing would remain undetected. Given the conditions on the moon's surface, it was unlikely that the descent or the touchdown had been visible to anyone; nevertheless, there was virtually no chance that his approach had gone undetected.

The focus of his search - the young man who awaited his arrival - might yet have weaknesses that could be exploited, but a lack of Force awareness was not one of them. The link might be constricted - almost blocked - and weakening with every passing hour, but it was still quite real, and it was stirring now. There was no way to prevent that.

The Jedi took the necessary time to set the perimeter alarms that would protect the one-man ship from random incursions by any of the indigenous lifeforms that had once been so plentiful in this remote area; it was doubtful that many survived, given the radical changes in the environment, but it was better to take no chances. If there were survivors, the Jedi wanted to be certain that the ship's defensive screens were set to deflect and discourage, rather than destroy.

There had been quite enough destruction here already.

The pilot climbed down from the ship, keying in its security protocols as he did so. It would open again - and operate - only at his voice command, and a brief chill seemed to touch the back of his neck as he wondered if it would ever fly again, or if it - and he - had logged their final flight

From this moment forward, there were no certainties.

He moved to the edge of the natural platform and gazed out over what had once been a spectacular world of unspoiled, natural beauty, a protected environment where wildlife of astonishing variety had flourished amid unexploited natural splendor; a place where sentient beings had been tolerated only as temporary visitors and under strictly controlled conditions - a virginal paradise.

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the acrid odors that seemed to bypass his nostrils and lodge directly in his throat, as he remembered the last time he had come here. Could it really be almost twenty-five years?

A bright, exquisite shard of anguish sliced through his consciousness as brilliant, painfully detailed memory flared in his mind - a memory he had buried long ago in the part of himself to which he consigned old dreams, no longer pertinent to anything but a dead past. He had come here with his Master to convalesce, to regain strength and health from an injury suffered in a dirty little civil war in the M'Aldrustia system - an injury that had almost cost him the use of his legs and his sight.

He had been brought here, to the second moon of Elvia, to a primitive little lodge where there had been little technology, virtually no conveniences, and only the crudest of facilities. But what it had lacked in amenities, it made up in other ways, such as a bottomless wealth of serenity and peace to cradle him, and unlimited time in which to drift, until he was able and willing to do otherwise. For two months, there had been no instructions, no katas, no lessons, no work-outs; no philosophical debates, no lightsaber challenges, no quantum physics experiments, no evaluations of diplomatic initiatives. Nothing but the sweet song of the Force to enfold him and the slow progression of hours to soothe him and the warm fragrance of paradise to nudge him toward restoration.

And his Master's presence to anchor him.

He opened his eyes and suppressed a ragged breath, and could not have said, for sure, whether or not the dagger that seemed to pierce his heart was a reaction to the end of the memory and the image of that face that he barely allowed himself to think about any more, or the dark vision that assailed his eyes, refuting his recollections.

The moon was called Syla's Solace - the solace for obvious reasons - and nobody was ever entirely sure who Syla was, but one thing was certain.

It would never provide solace - for Syla or anyone else - again.

Spread out below him was a vision that might easily have been mistaken for any of a dozen versions of hell, in any of a dozen different religions, and he wondered idly if anyone had ever done a study of the similarities among all the different beliefs. There were probably, he thought, vast differences in the various versions of heaven, but hell, it seemed, was fairly predictable.

Off to his left, easily visible beyond the neck of the little canyon, sprawled a wide, shallow valley, bleak and desolate. There was no greenery left anywhere. What little vegetation survived was dark and twisted and seemed mutated - evolved into something that could eek out an existence in conjunction with the vile agents of destruction that had taken the life of this small world and transformed it into unsurpassed ugliness.

The valley floor appeared to be shattered into jagged pieces, with dark, fuming channels separating each piece from the next; some of the channels were the width of a handspan; others, broad as a river. All gave off thick, sulfurous fumes that hung heavy, almost motionless in air too laden to move.

The Jedi almost went to his knees - almost - but, in the final analysis, refused to allow himself even that small reaction.

They had tried to stop him - tried to reason with him, to remind him that they needed him more than he needed to follow the compulsion that drove him - but, in the end, he had simply closed his mind and left them, knowing only that he must do what he must do, knowing that they would never forgive him, just as he would never forgive himself.

Destiny was here, on this decimated moon of Elvia; here where the clone factory was spewing out new units for Palpatine's loathsome armies at an astounding rate, and where the waste products of the industrial side of the process had reduced a living, breathing world to an acid-blasted carcass.

Generation 3 was the designation they had attached to this newest clone model. It was completely unlike its predecessors.

Generation 1 had been the army created by the Kaminoans, based on the DNA of the bounty hunter, Jango Fett. Despite genetic manipulation to increase their militaristic capabilities and suppress certain human properties deemed to be liabilities for soldiers, the clones had still been human - basically - and created with certain moral constraints. Thus, although fierce in battle and merciless against the enemy, they had been capable of discretion and even a certain level of compassion among themselves and in dealing with civilian populations.

Generation 2 had been based on the original model, but enhanced with greater physical strength and added bionic features, as well as improved mental faculties - to facilitate increased military strategic planning and perception; the Gen 2s, it was generally believed, were destined to be the upper echelon of the clone army, the high-ranking officers who would assume command of the Gen 1s.

All of which had worked out as expected and might have been the end of the process, until the Emperor (and the Jedi's mind still balked at the use of that term) decided that - for his ultimate purposes - he needed a third type of soldier. Generation 3 - hulking, immensely strong, brutish, soulless killing machines, capable of neither compassion nor logic; capable only of taking orders and following whatever instructions were given, no matter what obstacles might intervene.

_There had been companies of Generation 3 on Dial'tyair, and the young Jedi Master, in the grip of a despair that ripped the last fragments of his youth from him, had had to be dragged from the battlefield, his spine torn and riddled with shrapnel, as the clones had mowed down everything before them, including cowering women and children who had simply had nowhere else to run. Someone - he thought it might have been Master Windu - had gathered him up as he fought to go back to help them and forced him into a healing trance. When he'd wakened, the vast field had been a solid expanse of broken bodies, with a bizarre gaudiness conferred by splashes of bright blood - scarlet and emerald and citrine - and Mace Windu had been laid out beside him, his throat mangled and crushed and forever silenced._

_That had been the last time he had seen his padawan, as well - that day that he would forever associate with the acrid taste of bitter helplessness and the smell of blood. When the healers had patched him together sufficiently to allow him to move, albeit with exaggerated care, he had ignored the exhortations of fellow Jedi and the pitifully small band of resistance fighters that had stood with them, ignored even the directions of his superiors, and moved back into the carnage of the battlefield, to the spot where he had been struck down and dragged away. His connection with the Force had been sporadic then - splintered by the heavy pall of tragedy that clung to his perceptions and the psychic bruising inflicted by the death throes of so many helpless spirits extinguished in such a short time. But he had finally found what he was seeking, calling on the Force only to shift the bodies that covered the one he sought._

_Anakin had found him there, with little to distinguish his traumatized flesh from that around him, except that he still lived. Those surrounding him did not, including the tiny child cradled in his lap - a boy barely old enough to walk, with a halo of flaxen curls, skin like creamy silk, and a chubby little body, completely unmarked except for the perfectly round charred circle located exactly over a tiny heart that would beat no more; a lovely little body, with arms and legs fat and dimpled, and feet shod in tiny little boots, a perfect replica, in miniature, of the ones Obi-Wan was wearing._

_The padawan had moved through the aftermath of the battle with a strange, icy stillness in his face, until he was standing looking down at his Master. Obi-Wan had been weeping, soundlessly, his body wracked by great, violent sobs, but in absolute silence, which had somehow made it worse, and Anakin had knelt beside him, wanting to offer some kind of comfort but not knowing how._

_Abruptly, after several awkward minutes, the apprentice had risen and looked up toward the heavens. "It wasn't supposed to be this way," he'd murmured, so softly that only Jedi ears could have heard him, and perhaps he had counted on the ears in question being so overwhelmed and locked with grief that they would either fail to hear - or fail to comprehend._

_They did neither._

_The frozen moment in time that followed was as bright as a laser flare against the grimness of the deathwatch around them._

_"What did you say?" Obi-Wan's voice had been quieter than a tomb - and louder than thunder._

_"If they'd surrendered," continued the padawan, "they wouldn't have died."_

_And the Jedi Master had risen to his feet, the lifeless child still clasped in his arms, his eyes full of shadow. "Where were you, Anakin? I reached out for you during the battle, but you weren't . . . I couldn't sense you."_

_He had swayed dizzily then, and the apprentice had leapt to brace him against his own weakness. "You're hurt," said Anakin. "Come on - let me . . ."_

_"Where were you?" Weak and wounded or not - no matter what the circumstances - there was no avoiding response to that tone of voice._

_The padawan had straightened, careful to keep one supportive hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I was trying to stop it, Master."_

_The elder Jedi had peered deep into the apprentice's eyes then, and had felt something within himself die as he saw the truth. "When were you going to tell me, Padawan?"_

_"I don't know what you mean."_

_Obi-Wan had been forced to pause then, to fight off waves of dizziness, and, when he recovered, he saw that Anakin had moved away from him - moved half-way across the battlefield and was accelerating as he moved. "When were you going to tell me?" he had demanded again, augmenting his words with the Force to make sure the apprentice heard him. "When were you going to tell me that you've betrayed everything the Jedi stand for?"_

_And Anakin had swung back toward him, allowing the Master - for the first time - to see that which had been hidden for so long beneath a façade of diffidence and composure. "Don't speak to me of betrayal, Master. Not when it is you and your precious order who have betrayed me - who care nothing for those who are helpless and sacrificed for the welfare of the powerful." He had hesitated, eyes flaming with what might have been hatred, or might only have been the pain of a young heart, too sorely tested to cope. "I loved you," he had cried, voice hoarse and strained, "more than my life, and you betrayed me. I could have killed you, so many times. Just one slash with my blade, and you'd have died."_

_Obi-Wan had moved forward slowly, the child's body still held close, and tried to read the expression on Anakin's face. "So why didn't you?"_

_"Because I love you." It had been a shout, torn from the youth's throat - almost a snarl._

_"And I love you, Anakin, as if you were my own child," the Master had replied, his weariness palpable in his voice, "but I can't condone what you've done. Make me understand; make me see what you see."_

_"Don't you see - he only wants to make everything right, for everybody," came the sullen response. "If everyone will just let him run everything . . . "_

_Obi-Wan had sighed. "And does Padmé agree with you?"_

_The anger that flared then in eyes previously cold and silent, had been brilliant and frightening. "No, damn you! And it's because of you and others like you. It's your fault. All you had to do was surrender."_

_And Obi-Wan had finally given in to the rage rising within him, as he extended his arms, pushing the body of the child toward his apprentice. "And what about him, Padawan? Did he have the option to 'surrender'? He never got old enough to even learn what the word meant." His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "Don't you dare talk to me about surrender. You are responsible for this - you and every other hypocrite who talks about justice and what's right, when your only real concern is enforcing your will and that of your repulsive Master, on anyone who thinks differently from you."_

_Anakin's hand had moved then, to grip his lightsaber, and Obi-Wan had simply stared at him, luminous eyes brilliant with contempt. "Get out of my sight," he had said, finally, "while I still have enough control to allow you to go."_

He had never seen his apprentice again.

He raised his head and looked out across the valley, and saw the dark plume of particulate smoke that boiled into the atmosphere, marking the site of the main factory's central core.

Someone had to stop this abomination.

And he was the only one left.

He lowered his head for a moment and was lost once more, for just a heartbeat - in the bright cloak of memory.

_"This place will nourish your soul, my Obi-Wan, while it renews your spirit and strengthens your body."_

He could still hear the warmth and the smile in those words, as he could still see that face, contentment as bright as polished silver in the depths of sapphire eyes.

And all those years ago, the simple beauty of the place had accomplished just what the Master had promised. The boy had swum in the crystalline waters of lakes bluer than his Master's eyes, and sunned himself on beaches of sand as fine as powder; had walked in semi-tropical forests where bracts of flowers draped from weeping foliage and strolled in meadows starred with brilliant blossoms that danced with every breath of wind; had breathed the gentle fragrance of the night, and counted stars like grains of sand, scattered across the splendor of the heavens.

It had been magnificent, and it had restored his soul, and his Master had been, for those few days, as bright and playful as a child, exulting in the sheer loveliness of their surroundings, and showing a side of himself that Obi-Wan had never seen before and would only seldom see again. The padawan had never felt so cherished or so loved.

He found that, just for a moment, he was glad his Master had not lived to see the ruin of this magic place, and was startled into a small smile to realize that he had never had that thought before.

Qui-Gon Jinn had been dead for seventeen years, and not a day had passed in all that time that his padawan had not mourned his passing.

With a small sigh, he turned away from the desolation before him, to find the narrow, twisting trail that led down toward the base of the canyon wall, down toward the pulsing presence that he had sensed since his descent to the moon's surface, down - toward Anakin.

 

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X X*X*X*X*X

The path he followed was little more than a figment of imagination, and even Jedi skills would be insufficient to prevent serious injury if he lost his footing and, in a desperate tumble, initiated an avalanche of the brittle, jagged shards of stone that littered the trail. Adding to the difficulty was the quality of the air around him; as he descended, it grew heavier and more acrid, thick with noxious chemical waste and oily in his throat. His rebreather was safely tucked in a pocket of his cape, but he resisted using it, knowing that it tended to interfere, to some degree, with his direct connection to the Force.

And his connection to the Force was the only advantage he had to bring with him into the danger that was approaching so quickly.

Anakin - he was not far away now, and was fully aware, of course, of Obi-Wan's approach. But it seemed that he was content to bide his time, for the moment; he was not rushing forward to confront his ex-Master, and that, the elder Jedi found somewhat surprising, not to mention out of character. Anakin had never been very good at waiting.

Moving slowly, out of necessity, and keeping his Force senses fully extended while trying to ignore the more malodorous and unpleasant aspects of his surroundings, seemed to be having an unexpected side-effect, or maybe it was just his own reaction to the recollections spurred by the dramatic changes in this little world. But, for whatever reason, he found quick, bright flashes of memory - like new coins tossed in sunlight - flickering in his mind.

_Anakin - trying to learn patience or, at least, trying to feign patience, as Obi-Wan had attempted to teach him how to navigate a maze by accepting guidance from the Force. It had taken twenty-seven attempts, two demolished walls (victims of the padawan's trusty lightsaber), three trips to the healers (two for Anakin with deep abrasions where he had run full-speed into masonry that was every bit as stubborn as he, and one for Obi-Wan who had been standing just a hair too close to one of those unfortunate demolished walls and had allowed his focus to lapse for just a fraction of a second as Master Depa Billaba had stopped to smile at him as she made her way to a training salle, in a work-out costume that left little to the imagination._

_The injury had been minor, but the embarrassment it generated had earned a certain recalcitrant padawan a week of detention and some serious scrubbing of the kitchen floor in their quarters._

_Still, on the twenty-seventh try, he had done it - and done it in typical Anakin fashion - in near record time, coming within four seconds of breaking the previous best mark, a mark unbroken in thirteen years and set by one Obi-Wan Kenobi._

_Which, of course, had spurred the young apprentice to even greater efforts. For the next three years, he had run that maze (which changed configuration constantly and randomly, never repeating exactly the same pattern) at least once a month, determined to break the record set my his Master, and he had come remarkably close, but the record had never - quite - been broken; the final attempt had been less than one third of a second off._

It had always amused the Master that the apprentice had never thought to ask how many attempts it had taken for Obi-Wan to achieve sufficient skill and patience to establish that mark, and Obi-Wan had been careful to never volunteer the information. The boy, after all, tended to arrogance far too easily already; the Master saw no logic in providing data that would only make it worse, or so he had assured himself, with only the barest trace of a rueful smile.

And now, of course, the record never would be broken, as both the maze itself - and any records held by any Jedi anywhere - no longer existed.

Obi-Wan wiped his eyes with gritty fingers, and used a tiny trace of Force enhancement to clear them of the bitter film that clouded his vision.

The day was moving on toward evening, and, under normal circumstances, the temperature would have been dropping, but the circumstances were no longer normal on this world. The factory looming across the valley - and three others like it scattered across the face of the moon - had generated so much pollution and so much excess carbon dioxide that a greenhouse effect had been created, and the climate, which had once been so nearly perfect, was now growing ever hotter and more humid and, of course, less conducive to the perpetuation of life, which mattered not at all to the dark powers that had set this atrocity in motion.

The Jedi paused as he reached a break in the trail, a rough chasm angling in from above that he would have to leap across, and noted that dark, ugly clouds had formed off to the west, towering bruised masses that promised violent storms that would sweep in and strike with swift virulence.

He was reminded suddenly of the last day he had spent on Naboo, when a vicious tempest had battered the city of Theed, serving only to redouble the misery and suffering of the populace there in the aftermath of the massive bombardment mounted against the remote little rim world by rogue agents of the Empire: the Mandalorians, who called themselves Palpatine's political allies, when, in truth, they were nothing more than greedy, avaricious pirates, sweeping in and plundering the worlds unfortunate enough to stand in their way before initiating the vicious attacks that served to destroy whatever they might have left behind.

He had left Amidala there, much to his bitter chagrin and against his better judgment. But the simple truth was that she had left him no alternative. She had refused to allow him to escort her to safety, while, at the same time, insisting that he must go. Indeed, she had been alone in understanding why he felt compelled to follow the path he had chosen.

The few remaining Jedi - Master Yoda chief among them - had been adamant in their insistence that he abandon his quest, and, for a time, he had actually feared that a physical confrontation might develop among them, a development he most devoutly wished to avoid.

In the end, they had let him go, though not without bitter recriminations and not without exacting his pledge that he would first see to the welfare of his padawan's wife. He had been perplexed when Master Yoda had demanded his compliance with the request, had continued to be confused during his journey to Naboo.

But the confusion had evaporated the moment he had looked into her eyes; he would have been a poor excuse for a Jedi if he had not sensed the brightness of the small spirits within her, and it had been left to him to explain why she had been feeling so weak and out of sorts. Given the massive upheavals happening around her and the virtual demolition of the infrastructure of her world, it was hardly remarkable that she had failed to notice the changes in her body.

So he had sat beside her, and enclosed her small, cold fingers in his hands in an attempt to warm them; had winced at the bruises and abrasions that marked the loveliness of her face and caused her movements to be stiff and graceless; and had marveled anew at the strength and determination still so bright in her spirit.

He had told her and watched the fear and horror rise in her eyes, and felt the terrible burden of it in his heart; news that should have brought only joy and fulfillment had engendered only abject terror and had intensified maternal, protective instincts to such a degree that a transformation had taken place in the elemental core of the young woman's soul - almost a transfiguation.

Amidala had always been a fighter and a stalwart soldier in the service of the ideals she held, but, in that moment of epiphany, when she had become aware of the precious lives growing within her, she had become something more; she had become a warrior, a larger-than-life defender, in the tradition of the Jedi.

Obi-Wan, despite his gift for prophecy, had never been able to see what the future held for the young woman from Naboo, but he needed no prescience to be certain of one thing; whatever else she might survive to do, Amidala would protect her children, until she could safely entrust their protection to someone else.

He glanced once more at the darkness of the approaching storm and wondered if he would survive to take on the task that he somehow knew would be assigned to him, if he lived beyond this day.

"You must find him, Obi-Wan," Padmé had said, eyes huge and glistening with tears she refused to shed. "You must find him and discover if there is anything left of the man he was, the man I . . .we loved. And if there is - if he is still Anakin - then you must bring him back to me, back to us. I know he still loves us - both of us - but he's so lost now. I can't find a way to bring him back, but nobody knows him like you do, Obi-Wan. Not even me. So, please. Find him, and bring him back."

The Master had found the plea in her eyes almost impossible to contemplate; he had wanted to offer comfort, to assure her that there was some possibility of success, that there was a chance that Anakin - _their_ Anakin - still existed, but he had been compelled to speak only truth to the trust he read in her face.

"And if I find that he's . . . gone?"

It was a measure of the strength of the young woman that she did not flinch away from his question. "Then you must promise me only one more thing. You must promise me that he will never know, that you will die before you reveal the existence of my children."

And, of course, he had made the promise, and then stayed with her, holding her as she wept in bitter silence.

Despite the fact that there was only eleven years difference in their ages, he had a somewhat paternal attitude towards Amidala, feeling as if he had watched her grow up, as she had been little more than a child when they'd met, albeit she had also been the feisty, politically savvy queen of Naboo at the time.

And later, in the infamous battle of Geonosis, and both its prelude and its aftermath, he had observed, in the few moments he was able to spare to observe anything, how she had matured and become a fine, strong young woman, growing both in character and integrity as well as in body.

Later, after she had become wife to his padawan (and oh, what an uproar _that_ had caused in the halls of the Jedi!) they had all grown to be close friends, and both Anakin and his wife had taken it upon themselves to perform the function of matchmaker for the elder Jedi, much to his chagrin.

A series of conspiratorial maneuvers had followed, with the young couple employing everything from outright ambushes featuring nubile young noblewomen, pre-arranged intimate little dinner parties with the most elegant women of the Senatorial social strata, and - once - stranding the Master in a sleek, lovely little personal space yacht, purposely set adrift from a larger Naboo vessel, and dispatching rescue in the form of one very beautiful, very spirited, and very enthusiastic young Corellian pilot.

For the most part, Obi-Wan had simply smiled his maddeningly complacent smile, and, with the innate charm that allowed him to - somehow - refuse the offers that came to him so easily, while remaining perfectly polite and chivalrous, ignored their efforts, except for the Corellian. On that one occasion, the rescue, which should have taken two days, stretched to six, and neither of the participants was ever willing to explain why.

But Anakin had gone around grinning for weeks thereafter.

Anakin - his padawan, his apprentice; too old to be his son, but just the right age for a kid brother - a kid brother bequeathed to him by a Master who should have hung around long enough to mold the boy into what he had been meant to be.

Obi-Wan sighed and raised his eyes, spotting a dark figure high above silhouetted against the glare of the sun. He shaded his eyes with his hand, striving for a clearer view, wondering if it might be possible that any of the giant avians who had once numbered in the millions in the mountainous areas of this moon could have survived. Whatever it was that soared through the bilious clouds was massive and seemed to be riding thermal drafts, seeking ever greater altitude. Altitude so great, perhaps, that there would be insufficient oxygen to sustain life. Did great winged creatures, in the knowledge that their world would soon be barren and lifeless, turn to suicide as a way out?

As he prepared to make the considerable leap across the chasm, he almost smiled as a kindred thought struck him. Did Jedi?

He leapt with easy grace and landed safely, shaking his head.

Some Jedi had, indeed, taken their own lives during the blood baths that had occurred within the last year, but only in efforts to divert their assailants sufficiently to allow others to escape. A number of senior padawans had been saved by such efforts, although none had survived intact. The abrupt severance of the Master/Padawan bonds had left them neurally traumatized, and there were few surviving Jedi healers to attempt the necessary healing.

_Abruptly, a stark image flared in his mind, an image of a very young apprentice - nine or ten, perhaps; certainly no more - a Bhrim-bahr, with the soft, almost boneless features and pallid coloring of that mammalian race, sporting a padawan braid with soft streaks of silver threaded through her own spun-gold locks, standing frozen and stricken in the main corridor of the Jedi temple. No one had known exactly what had happened, at that moment, except that there had been a great disturbance in the Force, but it had been obvious that something horrible had touched the child._

_It had been Anakin who had reacted first - Anakin with his quick sympathy and his amazing ability to recognize and understand the emotions of others. He had run to the girl, dragging Obi-Wan with him, and simply put his arms around her, offering soothing, nonsense words as he looked to his Master to repair whatever damage had been done._

_Unfortunately, no repair had been possible, as it was soon learned that Master Soischan had been killed in an explosion in a spacedock/shipyard in high orbit around Coruscant._

_Anakin had been twelve at the time, and the young padawan, whose name had been Silqana, had clung to the boy as if to a lifeline in stormy seas. And he had allowed himself to be clung to; Obi-Wan had watched the interplay between the two padawans with a heart filled with tenderness and renewed purpose. It seemed that every time he began to despair of ever succeeding in teaching his padawan how to be a Jedi, his padawan wound up teaching_ him _something entirely unexpected._

_Later that night, Master and padawan had stood together on the balcony outside their quarters, and gazed up into the spangled sky of the great city, and Obi-Wan had deliberately allowed his mental shielding to thin into non-existence as he had turned to study Anakin's face._

_The apprentice had been momentarily so astonished at his Master's unprecedented action that he had almost failed to take advantage of the chance to take a long look at whatever was being displayed for his perusal. Almost._

_Crystal blue eyes had widened and then widened again, as the padawan saw what his Master wished him to see. The tears had followed almost immediately._

_Obi-Wan had reached out and wrapped his arms around the boy as he wept, and had felt a tremendous swell of pain in his own heart as he had finally made sense of the words that were mixed with the sobs._

_"You do love me, don't you. I never believed you did; I always thought you didn't want me, that only Master Qui-Gon wanted me. But you do love me. I'm so sorry, Master. I never knew. I never understood. I'll be so good from now on, I promise. I won't give you any more trouble."_

_And Obi-Wan had laughed, and forced Anakin to meet his eyes. "And bore me to tears, no doubt."_

_The Master had wiped away the tears as puzzlement replaced chagrin in those luminous eyes. "You mean you like it when I cause trouble?"_

_"I like it," Obi-Wan had responded, "when you react naturally. I like it when you're you."_

_Anakin's puzzlement had deepened. "But when I'm 'me', I'm not Jedi."_

_"Wrong, Padawan. That's when you're most Jedi of all. When you listen to the Force, instead of that obstinate little voice in your head that encourages you to ignore your instincts."_

_They had gone back to their inspection of the skies then, and stood together in companionable silence for some minutes, until Anakin had turned and stared at his Master, obviously working up his courage._

_"Do you?" he asked finally, barely audible._

_"Do I what?"_

_The eyes dropped, and the boy evidently was suddenly fascinated with the tip of his boots. "Do you love me?"_

_Obi-Wan had turned to face his padawan directly, and reached out to lift the boy's chin until he was forced to meet his Master's eyes._

_"Never doubt that, Padawan. To train you, to teach you to be a Jedi knight, as you are meant to be, there will be times when I must be harsh with you, and demanding, and unforgiving, but never doubt that I love you."_

_Anakin had sighed and stroked his padawan braid with nervous fingers, a habit that seemed to be endemic to all apprentices, since it was one Obi-Wan had himself fought for years to break. "Did you want me?"_

_The voice had been even quieter than before, and the emotion beneath it even more threaded with uncertainty, and Obi-Wan had taken time to choose his words carefully. He would not abuse the Master/Padawan bond by lying to the boy._

_"When Qui-Gon died," he had said finally, "I felt like I had lost everything. He had been my anchor, my parent, my center - my universe. I was lost, Anakin. Lost and frightened and very, very alone. For a while, I didn't want anything, except to have died with him, or in his place. For days - even weeks - I hardly knew where I was or what I did. To be honest, I remember very little of that time."_

_"And after that?"_

_"After that, I had to find a way to let him go, a reason to reach for life, instead of death." Obi-Wan had looked down at his apprentice and allowed his warmth and caring to shine through his eyes. "And I did. I found you, and I'm thankful for you every single day of my life."_

_"Really?"_

_"Well, except for the day Master Gallia caught you peeking into the girls' shower. I could have lived without that one."_

_Remembering the weeks of kitchen duty assigned to him by an outraged Master Mace Windu, Anakin had been inclined to agree._

_They had shared a laugh, and then Obi-Wan had sent his apprentice to his bed, protesting that he wasn't the least bit sleepy, even when he had to stifle yawns every step of the way._

Obi-Wan continued his descent toward the canyon floor, and tried to ignore the ache rising within him - the one that always flared when he allowed himself to examine any of the hundreds of beautiful memories accumulated over the years of his relationship with his padawan.

Carefully, he extended his senses through the Force and touched the link that, for some unfathomable reason, still existed between him and his ex-apprentice. According to all Jedi logic, the bond should have been irrevocably severed with the padawan's allegiance to a new Master, the dark Master of his shadowed soul.

But exist it still did - muted, constricted, flawed - but still there.

He instantly felt the amusement of his padawan. _Reminiscing, my Master? Dangerous, don't you think? Did you not learn your Master's primary instruction? Live in the moment - wasn't that it?_

_Hello, Anakin._

_What? No 'Hello, Padawan'? I'm crushed.  
_

Somehow, I doubt that.  


To the Jedi's surprise, he felt laughter erupt through the link. _Oh, Obi-Wan. You still have that lovely, dry wit and that beautiful accent that makes all the girls crazy for you. I have missed you._

_As I - as we have missed you._

There was a dark stillness - a sense of power held in abeyance, waiting, growing. _That was a mistake, my Master. For I know the truth about the 'We' you presume to speak for._

Obi-Wan paused and looked from the shadows of the canyon out into the strident brilliance of the valley. _What do you mean, Anakin?_

Again, there was that pregnant silence. _Let me show you._ The tone was silken - almost seductive.

Obi-Wan smiled. _Somehow, I don't think that's such a good idea._

_Oh, come on, Master. You're not actually going to admit that you're afraid to let me project an image into your mind, are you? I mean, you're a Jedi Master; I'm just a helpless padawan._

_You've never been helpless, Anakin - and you're no longer a padawan._

There was a brief pause, and Obi-Wan could almost tap into a different form of communication - the one that was undoubtedly occurring between Anakin and his new Master, meaning that Palpatine was nearby, an unexpected and unwelcome complication to his secondary mission.

Nevertheless, Anakin was offering a direct, visual communication through the remnants of their training bond, and it was a certainty that there would be no more generous opportunity for direct mind-to-mind speech, the kind of speech that allowed no subterfuge - no lies - although it did still allow certain types of shielding.

Obi-Wan considered his options, continuing his descent, as the silence grew deeper.

 _How can I show you how perfectly I understand what has happened, if you won't allow me to send it through our link?_ Now, Anakin was sounding imminently reasonable - even affable - and a frisson of dread traced its way down the elder Jedi's back.

Obi-Wan dropped the final two meters to the canyon floor, and took a moment to survey his surroundings, stretching out with all his senses, and then stretching further, through the Force.

Anakin was nearby and coming closer, but still moving without haste.

This confrontation - and there could be no doubt that it would be exactly that, a confrontation - would happen at the time and place of Anakin's choosing. Obi-Wan wasn't particularly sanguine with that thought, but knew he had little choice.

There was something more here as well - something tenuous and floating stubbornly just beyond his grasp, something not of the physical world, but, perhaps, the metaphysical, and Obi-Wan was completely disgruntled with that thought.

He stood quietly, allowing serenity to enclose him like a cape. _Very well, Anakin. I will look at whatever you want to show me._

_Excellent, my Master. Truly excellent. Are you ready?_

For just the briefest of moments, Obi-Wan wondered if what he heard in the surreal calm of that voice was not the mindless tranquility of madness.

_Ready._

He closed his eyes, and saw . . . _himself, fighting his way through a crowd, a mob of panicked pedestrians, their faces twisted in fear. His lightsaver was drawn and ignited, and, around him, there were other Jedi, also wielding their blades, as they all fought to clear a path through the crowd._

_The setting was familiar, but not entirely, and he realized abruptly that it was Theed he was seeing, but a Theed distorted by the destruction and disasters of war, and only partially visible through heavy clouds of noxious smoke._

_He was running toward the palace, and as he ran, more and more Jedi joined him, but something was wrong. Anakin had intimated that what he wished to display for Obi-Wan was an actual occurrence, and this scene that he watched now, as a bystander to his own actions, had never happened._

_He had been the only Jedi on Naboo, and the battle had been a part of history by the time he'd arrived._

_"What . . . "_

_"Silence!. You will have the decency to be silent, to witness the 'honor' of the Jedi in action."_

Obi-Wan felt his breath seize up within him and tried to draw away from the link that was now wide open and pulsing with dark light, but he found that he couldn't. And that he couldn't refuse to see what he suddenly knew he would see.

_It was impossible to determine, due to the number of Jedi who surged around the slender figure waiting at the base of the palace steps, which of them struck the fatal blow, though it was immediately obvious that it had not been Obi-Wan._

_"Anakin, it didn't . . . "_

_"I suppose I should be grateful for small favors, shouldn't I? At least, you didn't kill her yourself, Master. You just let your Jedi cronies do the dirty work for you."_

_"Think, Anakin. Why would the Jedi do this? Why would I do this? This vision is untrue - it never happened."_

Again the silence, and now there was no doubt about the degree of dark power pouring through the link that had lain almost dormant until only moments before.

Obi-Wan fought to maintain his balance against the vertigo that tried to wrap itself around his consciousness.

_I felt her die._

_No. You felt your link to her severed, by your new master, Anakin. Think, Padawan. Hold on for one moment to who you are and think! You know I would never hurt her. She lives - I swear it._

Again, there was that pause, and Obi-Wan knew he had lost at least the first stage of the battle. Anakin would not be persuaded to listen to truth, as long as Palpatine/Sideous was feeding darkness and distrust directly into his mind.

The only chance would be . . .

Despite his heightened awareness of his surroundings, the grim laughter that rose just a few meters beyond where he stood caught him by surprise, and he ruefully observed to himself that Qui-Gon would have been very cross with him.

"You astonish me, Master Obi-Wan. The great, noble Jedi - reduced to lying to cover his fear."

Obi-Wan took a minute to stare at the slim figure standing so straight just beyond the canyon's narrow entrance, and he fought to keep his expression neutral and unchanged.

It required a great effort, for Anakin was most definitely different - radically different, even in something so mundane as his physical appearance. The youthful build was the same, of course, and the features had not morphed into some new configuration, but they had coarsened, somehow, as if abraided by time. Despite the fact that he was only twenty-six years old, there were streaks of gray in the hair that had grown out now, to fall over his shoulders, and there were lines in his face - a network of lines that cut deep into his forehead and framed his mouth. But the biggest difference of all - the one that neither time nor circumstance could account for - was in his eyes. Gone was the warmth and the openness once so blatant in that gaze; gone, too, the bottomless curiosity and the limitless enthusiasm.

Now there was only the bitter poison of hatred and cold fury.

He was dressed all in black, of course.

"I've never lied to you, Anakin."

"No? I think you're lying now, my Master. I think our entire lives were nothing but one long lie."

"Anakin, it's not too late." The Jedi realized abruptly that he might very well be lying to the youth now; it might, indeed, already be too late, but he had no choice but to continue. "Come back with me. Padmé is waiting for you. Come back with me, and we'll find a place where you can be with her, where the two of you will be safe. Please."

The young man actually smiled and backed up a few steps as he drew from his belt a silver cylinder, filigreed with an intricate pattern formed of obsidian. When he ignited it, Obi-Wan was not surprised to see the lurid scarlet of a Sith blade.

"There are no safe places any more, Obi-Wan. Not for the Jedi. You've betrayed me - betrayed us - for the last time. You always hated me, because he abandoned you for me, because you were never good enough. Just like you're not good enough now. You can't beat me, you know."

He swung his blade diagonally, dislodging a shower of stones from the canyon wall, as he grinned, but it was a death's head grin - bleak and horrible. "I'm the Chosen One, remember?"

Obi-Wan reluctantly ignited his own azure blade. "I could hardly forget, Anakin."

The young man extended his arms and stood, chest thrust forward, presenting himself as a perfect target. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

The Jedi smiled. "You know the answer to that," he said softly. "Surely you haven't forgotten everything I ever taught you."

And then there was no time for more repartee as Anakin spun and leapt forward, with a movement almost too fast for the eye to follow, and swung his saber in a powerful overhand blow with deadly precision.

Luckily, Obi-Wan was quite familiar with the young man's dueling style and parried the strike easily.

"I've forgotten nothing, Master Mine." Anakin's voice was almost conversational, revealing no stress or strain at all. "Including the fact that the Jedi only fight in self-defense."

He spun and swung upwards, and again the azure blade was there to deflect the blow. "Today, that won't be enough." He actually laughed. "Today, you fight to kill, or you die."

"I didn't come here to kill you, Anakin. I came to take you home. I came, because Padmé asked me to."

And the howl of pure rage that tore from the young man's throat was something beyond human, the primal shriek of pure fury as bayed at the moon by a being too primitive to master the spoken word, and his attack intensified, as he poured all his great strength, both within the Force and from the innate power of his youth, into the blows he struck. "Do not soil her name by speaking it. For that, Jedi, you will die."

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X X*X*X*X*X*X

 

Obi-Wan realized quickly that the walls of the canyon were far too restrictive to allow him any room for maneuvering, even though they did provide cover for his back. But that, he knew, was superfluous; Anakin would not resort to having accomplices attack his opponent from the rear. Such a ploy would concede that the young man was unable to defeat his former Master without resorting to superiority in numbers, and Anakin was far too arrogant to allow such an admission.

The former apprentice would use every ounce of power available to him, and every dirty trick that occurred to him, but the fight would remain between the two of them. Of that, Obi-Wan had no doubt.

Still, the Jedi must escape the confines of the canyon, in order to take full advantage of the skills he brought to the contest, skills which - he hoped - were still superior to those of his one-time student. That the younger man was stunningly powerful, there could be no doubt, and he had youth and stamina on his side as well, in addition to the advantage of a greater reach. But Obi-Wan retained the advantages of greater experience, and an easier facility with the Force, and he was marginally faster; having realized, at a very young age, that he would never attain the size and brute strength of some Jedi, like his own Master, Obi-Wan had spent many, many long hours in arduous training sessions, training above and beyond the requirements of his station, working to increase both his speed and his athleticism. It had made him a powerful swordsman, with a strength and grace and agility seldom matched among his fellows and frequently unsuspected by his adversaries.

His childhood friend, Garen, had expressed it very well once, in a moment of disgust, after having been - in his own words - 'beaten like a rug' by his considerably smaller, less muscular friend. "It's like being steamrolled by an elf," he had said morosely. "You're so caught up in how small he is and how pretty he looks that you never notice the juggernaut that's coming at you, until he mows you down."

Obi-Wan thought that a juggernaut would be a great blessing right about now.

He blocked a series of quick slashes, allowing himself to be forced back toward the canyon wall; so far, despite the force of Anakin's blows, there had been no real threat to either of them. This part of the battle was only the opening salvo - the testing, the gauging of one's opponents skill. The real confrontation had yet to begin.

Obi-Wan was careful to focus on the garish glow of Anakin's saber blade, but, at the same time, he opened himself to the warm pulse of the Force and allowed it to flow through him, enhancing his own fluid grace and natural balance, guiding the flow of his hands and the sweet, perfect interaction of flesh and bone, nerve and sinew; at the same time, one small section of his mind stood watch over the air he inhaled, screening and expelling the toxic particles, and allowing him almost undiminished lung capacity. This, he knew, was one of his greatest strengths, and it was something that Anakin had never - quite - mastered; he had improved, over the years, but he had never quite reached the point at which he could completely relinquish his control to the Force. It had been, after all, a question of trust - something Anakin had never granted easily, to anyone, or anything.

As the Master felt the mass of the canyon wall at his back, he dodged a great, sweeping slash from his opponent's blade, leapt to a stone projection just beyond his adversary's reach and used his momentum and the resistance of the rough surface to propel himself over Anakin's head and out beyond the enclosing walls. He landed in a semi-crouch, his blade already raised over his head to meet the descending blow his ex-apprentice had launched as soon as he'd realized Obi-Wan's intention.

In an action completely uncharacteristic to his normal sober demeanor, Obi-Wan actually laughed, caught up, perhaps, in memories of happier times - times when contests between the two of them had generated furious competitive spirits and, often, a sense of sheer exhilaration, generated from testing one's own skills against the very best.

Anakin paused, obviously startled, before moving once more to the attack. "Enjoying yourself, my Master? Laugh while you can."

Obi-Wan continued to parry the rain of blows, with apparent ease. "I wonder when you laughed last, Padawan. Or when you last did anything, besides wrap yourself in hatred and anger."

And Anakin smiled then, beneath eyes that were brutally cold. "Oh, you think this is angry, Obi-Wan? You haven't seen angry yet."

The younger man leapt then, twisting in mid-air to try to cleave his former Master's head from his shoulders, but Obi-Wan danced away and, with a rapid, vertical spin of his saber, managed to land a quick, glancing slash across Anakin's back. Instantly, there was the unmistakable, nauseating odor of charred flesh, and Anakin recoiled from the blow, landing badly.

What followed was one of those rare moments of such crystalline clarity, such purity, that it was actually physically painful - like inhaling dry air in sub-zero weather; the perceptions of the two opponents were heightened and sharpened, honed to an awareness neither would ever quite achieve again.

For Obi-Wan, the moment morphed into a frozen tableau - his former apprentice crumbled at his feet, crimson blade outflung to regain balance as the youth raised his remaining hand, the one that was still flesh and bone, still capable of feeling and experiencing the scarlet brilliance of pain, to fend off the blow he was sure was coming, the blow that the pale hand would be helpless to prevent or deflect. And within the Jedi, every warrior instinct, every battle sense was screaming that this was the moment - the one, pure, bright moment of destiny toward which he had traveled throughout his entire life, the moment that would change the course of history; every instinct bellowed for him to strike and strike quickly, to take his victory and end this battle and, by so doing, take a giant step toward securing a final victory in this war. Every single instinct - except one; the one he could not ignore, despite the certainty that he would live, if only briefly, to regret his hesitation. He found that he could not - _could not_ \- disregard the small, tranquil voice that managed, somehow, to be heard beneath the clamor of his adrenalin-clouded thoughts. This was Anakin - his padawan, his responsibility, whom he had sworn to defend, with his life; did that vow no longer matter simply because some foul, vile thing had struck deep into the boy's mind and maimed and distorted the reality that had once existed there?

The Jedi looked down into the face that he had known so well, for so long . . . and paused.

From Anakin's perspective, the focus was entirely different, but no less vivid. He looked up into those remarkable eyes - sea-change eyes, Padmé had dubbed them, and was instantly transported back in time - to the first time, the first moment he had ever looked up to meet that gaze.

_Qui-Gon had been sprawled on the deck of the Nubian transport ship following his desperate escape from that nightmare creature that had swooped down on them out of the Tatooine wastes, fighting to recover his breath, and Anakin had felt the deep, visceral flex of fear gripping his spine; he had known the Jedi Master only a few days, but already the man had evolved within his mind to become something more than a man, a creature of myth, a titan, and, very nearly, a god. The man who had done the impossible; the wizard who had freed him from the iron bonds of slavery._

_Such a creature - such a god - should not, could not be vulnerable to the same weaknesses that plagued mere mortals. The boy could not even contemplate the possibility._

_When Qui-Gon had pulled himself together, in an attempt to reassure the boy, he had introduced his apprentice, as part and parcel of the effort to re-establish an air of normalcy, an air in which abject fear had no place._

_Anakin had looked up and would never be sure how he had found the rationality - or the breath - to speak; would, even beyond that, never remember exactly what it was that he had said._

_Obi-Wan Kenobi had, quite simply, taken the boy's breath away; never in his short life had he met anyone like the young apprentice, and he was overwhelmed, and even more so when he came to realize - very shortly - that no one around him seemed to see what he saw. Obi-Wan was stunningly beautiful, not in the classic sense of the word, although his Padmé had assured him later in life that the term was applicable in that sense too, occasionally eliciting a tiny spark of jealousy deep in his heart, but that wasn't the meaning he had originally attached to the word. It hadn't been because of the pleasing form or arrangement of the young Jedi's features or the slender perfection of his body; it had, in fact, been much more elemental than that. Obi-Wan had been radiant - literally; at a time in his life when Anakin understood very little about the Force, he had been amazed to see it hovering around the Jedi padawan like a halo, pure and bright and very beautiful, and absolutely terrifying._

He had never told anyone what he had seen, except Padmé, who had reacted with the warm understanding that was so characteristic of the person she was. But he had refused to speak of it to anyone else, even when she urged him to do so. At the time, he had believed it was because he feared being laughed at, but, as the months and years passed, he had come to realize that it was more than that.

He was the Chosen One; Qui-Gon had said so, and no one had ever quite dared to dispute his certainty, even when the man, who was often remembered as the Rogue Jedi, was no longer around to defend it. The Order had come to accept it over the years, even if his Master had always bent over backwards to treat him no differently from the manner in which all the other apprentices were treated.

In the Temple, it was a given, if one seldom voiced.

Anakin Skywalker was the Chosen One, but Anakin Skywalker had never walked around in a glow generated by the purity of the Force within him, and neither, so far as he knew, had anyone else. He had looked - looked really hard - at every Jedi he had ever met, from the wise and dominant beings who formed the Council of Twelve at the pinnacle of Jedi power, all the way down to the tiny infants of the creche, but he had never seen it again, in anyone. Occasionally, he had come across a fleeting glimmer of that perfect light, caught and held in the aura of some child especially strong in some aspect of the Force, and once, during a mourning ceremony in the largest of the Temple gardens, he had spied what might have been a pulse of visible energy surrounding Master Yoda, but it had dissipated before he was able to be certain of what it was that he had seen.

In addition, and also so far as he knew, he was the only person who had ever seen it, Jedi or not. No one had ever remarked on such a phenomenon, to his knowledge, and his extremely discreet but very thorough research into the Jedi archives had revealed no mention of such a thing ever having been recorded before.

He had long ago stopped trying to figure out what it meant, and now, he didn't want to know, for it no longer mattered. For its own, incomprehensible reasons, the luminescence still clung to Obi-Wan, sometimes so bright it seemed to glisten, other times subsiding to a soft glow, but always there. Always a part of him.

_Would it die with him? That remained to be seen._

It would be seen, today. However the elder Jedi had managed to seize and manipulate the Force for his own ends, he would do so no longer.

Anakin stared up into eyes now the color of evening storm clouds and deliberately dismantled that image that hovered in his mind - the image of a young face framed in a gentle incandescence that sang of purity and promise - in the deadly certainty that any promise Obi-Wan had ever made to him had been broken and twisted and used to form the weapon that had finally been buried in his back.

His Padmé was gone - dead at the hands of Jedi just like this one - just like Obi-Wan, who was, after all, not so special. Or, if he really was special, then he must bear the greatest guilt of all. If he had truly been anointed by the light, truly beloved of the Force as that radiance had seemed to suggest, then he should have been able to save her from the brutality inflicted on her by his Jedi brethren.

The fallen padawan had chosen not to broadcast all of the vision that had come to him, showing him the fate of the woman he loved; he would not give the craven coward the satisfaction of watching it happen all over again, of watching her used and degraded by the Jedi, before finally being butchered when they had lost interest. Had Obi-Wan been among those who had defiled her broken body?

He would never know for sure, unless he was able to breach the Master's mental shielding and tear the memory from his mind - a task that might even be beyond the capability of the Chosen One, for Obi-Wan was truly a Master of constructing shields. Anakin had never quite succeeded in penetrating the barriers around the elder Jedi's mind, but then again, he had never poured all of his great strength into the attempt, since he had never before been unconcerned with any damage he might do.

Today, he was unbothered by that possibility, but he wasn't certain that he wished to make the attempt anyway. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, and he also wasn't sure why that should be true.

His eyes narrowed as he met that steady gaze, and he refused to acknowledge the final truth that battered at his consciousness, the truth of his response to Obi-Wan at the moment of their first meeting, and through all the years since, in which that first, initial reaction had remained unchanged and unacknowledged.

Obi-Wan had been his Master, his teacher, his mentor - his father; his companion, his brother, and his friend, and he had loved him in all those roles, loved him as much as it was possible to love another human being, loved him - almost as much as he had resented him.

For he had somehow always known the truth of it. Anakin Skywalker might very well be - almost certainly was - the Chosen One, but it was Obi-Wan Kenobi who was beloved of the Force, in a way that the padawan would never be, and the apprentice was consumed with jealousy that not only should this be so, but that the object of his envy should be completely oblivious of his own unique place in the scheme of things. Obi-Wan had mentioned once, with a charming little self-deprecating smile, that the Force sometimes sang to him, and his manner had been that of a man commenting on something completely ordinary and unremarkable. It had taken a while for the apprentice to figure it out; his Master thought it unremarkable, because he didn't realize that he was the only person who experienced it.

The Force was rich with power and strength and harmony, and spoke to those who were willing to listen, but, for the most part, it didn't sing. Not to anyone besides Obi-Wan Kenobi and the rare few who might have shared his experience over the millenia.

The padawan had found it very difficult to sleep that night and had redoubled his efforts to strengthen his own shields and to be endlessly vigilant in maintaining them against stray thoughts that might betray his innermost feelings.

And even then, sometimes Obi-Wan had known, had sensed that his padawan was a seething mass of insecurities and jealousy and had merely put more effort into convincing the boy that there was no reason for such negative feelings.

Anakin almost laughed aloud; it was really quite amusing. The self-effacing little bastard had never figured out that the problem wasn't in what Anakin lacked; it was in what Obi-Wan possessed, and it wasn't a skill or a capability that could be taught or bestowed or passed on. It was a part of who he was.

"Your mistake, Master mine," said the young man, regaining his footing quickly and resetting himself in a battle-ready position that would allow him to either attack or defend, as the need arose. As he moved, he observed to himself that there really should be some kind of mark of the beast on his ex-Master's body. It was strange that a man who had done such great evil should still look the same, saving a few strands of silver among the ginger tresses and laugh lines at the corner of his eyes.

Anakin was positive that the lines that ravaged his own face would never be confused with laugh lines.

"I told you. I didn't come here to kill you." Obi-Wan's voice was perfectly serene, perfectly certain.

Anakin smiled. "You don't seem to get it, Jedi. There are only two alternatives here. You kill, or you die. One of us does not walk away from this place."

Obi-Wan stood easily, blade at an angle, ready to defend, feeling the Force swell within him. But he was also aware of something more, something outside the normal span of the Force, something beneath the bright layers of energy that were almost buoyant in their exuberant strength.

"She wouldn't be very happy with me if I returned without you," said the Master, making no effort to conceal the image in his mind that spoke of the 'she' to whom he was referring.

But something swirled between the two combatants then, something very cold and incredibly fast, but just beyond the range of vision - even Jedi vision - and Obi-Wan saw the rage bloom in his apprentice's eyes, and knew that he was not alone here in this desolate place, locked in combat with his former padawan. There was another presence here - a dark presence that would make every effort to prevent him from grasping the purity of the Force and seeking its help in his efforts to reclaim his padawan.

"Anakin, please," he said softly, putting as much Force compulsion into it as he could without triggering an alert in the younger man's consciousness. "Please," he repeated, totally unconcerned if his words might make him appear to be begging. He _was_ begging, and it troubled him not in the least. "Come home with me. Come back where you belong."

"Why should I?" sneered the apprentice. "Give me one good reason."

"We love you," said Obi-Wan, very quietly. "Is that good enough?"

An instant later, the Jedi had cause to regret the tiny degree to which he had dropped his guard, for Anakin almost succeeded in separating his upper body from his lower in one sweeping slash. "No more!" bellowed the young man. "No more lies; no more tricks; no more pretending to be my friend. _My friend!_ It's ludicrous. You let them butcher her, and now you want to be my friend? Very well, then, Friend. There's but one way to bring peace to my tortured soul. You want to bring me peace, don't you? It's what you always said you wanted for me - to find peace. Then stand still, damn it, and die like a man, to atone for your sins."

And the attack was mounted again, with amazing speed and strength, and Obi-Wan was forced to focus all his skills on evading the raw power of the assault. He felt the Force flowing within him, strong and sure, and he let it guide him, but he was still conscious of that other power - the dark light that swirled around Anakin like a cape, and darted forward in quick, almost delicate little strikes, to pluck at him and attempt to draw his focus away from where it needed to be.

As he anticipated the pattern of his apprentice's attack, the Jedi cast out with his secondary senses to map the terrain around and behind him and noted both the tectonic instability of the valley and the fact that the soil itself seemed prone to shifting and collapsing beneath sudden pressure. Apparently, the pollutants that had so drastically affected both air and water had also changed the physical composition of the soil, leaching out all biological content and leaving a loose, powdery sand, barren and unable to support life. Heavy channels crisscrossing the uneven surface attested to the violent run-off left behind by intense storms, and those channel were now partially filled with the toxic waste spewing from huge sewerage conduits poised half-way up the hills on which the factory spread like an ugly stain.

The thick, acrid fumes rising from the runnels suggested that taking a plunge into those depths was a fate devoutly to be avoided.

Anakin twisted away from the rebound of his own blade and leapt lightly across one of the channels to gain some space to regroup. For the first time, his hair had begun to darken with accumulated perspiration, and fine droplets beaded on his face and throat.

Obi-Wan was still relatively dry, but it was more a matter of personal physiology than an indication of condition; Anakin had always been inclined to perspire more, and Obi-Wan knew better than to allow himself to assume anything.

He followed his former padawan across the narrow chasm, then paused to allow the younger man to determine the next move. For his part, the Master decided that there was nothing to be lost by continuing the dialog begun earlier. If nothing else, there was an annoyance factor to consider; if Anakin responded with typical Skywalker attitude, his patience would wear thin with astonishing quickness, given his customary irritation with Obi-Wan's tendency to lecture. According to one of the padawan's most oft-repeated complaints, Master Kenobi could manage to make "Breakfast is served" sound like a philosophy lesson.

"Charming place you have here," observed the Master. "Amazing what a few million tons of toxic waste can accomplish."

"It serves its purpose," replied Anakin, stepping forward and weaving an intricate pattern with his blade, impacting with Obi-Wan's saber in a complex point/counterpoint that gained advantage for neither of them but seemed, for some reason, to please the younger man, and Obi-Wan's danger sense flared abruptly, just as a scalding column of thick boiling liquid shot out of a crevasse behind him, soaring some ten meters into the dirty atmosphere and fanning outward. His acrobatic leap to a spot beyond the reach of the geyser's eruption avoided the worst of the blast, but a stray globule splashed against the side of his throat, and he was forced to suppress a hiss of pain. Quick application of the Force avoided serious injury, but couldn't keep it from hurting like the very devil.

Anakin laughed. "Even the planet resents your presence, my Master. You shouldn't have come here."

And Obi-Wan shrugged, the blisters forming on his skin throbbing with a fiery agony. His voice, however, remained perfectly steady. "This is where you were, so I had no choice."

And Anakin pressed forward again, his scarlet blade moving now with less finesse and more anger, not to mention more brute strength. Obi-Wan felt the force of the blows in the recoil in his hands that telegraphed itself all the way up his arms and into his shoulders and back. Anakin had been practicing and had grown stronger. That thought had barely touched his mind when his former padawan launched himself vertically while extending his hand to lift a small mound of jagged stones from a dried stream bed and hurl them toward the Jedi. Obi-Wan deflected the natural missiles easily, but found it more troublesome to parry the bright slashes of Anakin's blade as he came leaping forward in the wake of the stones.

"Very impressive, Anakin," called the Master. "You seem comfortable with your aggressions."

"And why shouldn't I be?" came the taunt. "Only the Jedi are foolish enough to seek to destroy that which grants power."

"Is that what you seek now? Power? Has it become your final goal?"

Distraction, thought Obi-Wan as Anakin struck again, coming in quick and low so that the Jedi had to leap to avoid both blade and the younger man's outstretched hands, from which dark energy was pouring to such a degree that it was almost visible. Distraction, he observed silently, didn't seem to be working very well.

"Once," he remarked, still completely calm, "your only concern was in protecting those you cared for. Is that no longer of interest to you? Do you . . ."

"Stop!" snarled the Sith apprentice, pressing forward with a flurry of quick, brutal thrusts. "Just stop. For once, let's see the man - the one under all that Jedi serenity. If there really is a man under there. Or have you finally managed to convince yourself that your stupid code is really true, that there really is no emotion? Because" . . . he leapt and spun, trying to force Obi-Wan back toward the lip of a particularly deep chasm . . . "I think the real truth of it is that you're just dead inside, and necrotic and corrupted and cold."

Obi-Wan, with movements as smooth as poured liquid, side-stepped the younger man's maneuver, and allowed a sudden inspiration to dictate his response. "You think me cold, Anakin?"

And, in the space between one heartbeat and the next, the Jedi dropped the mental shields that protected his memories of his life with his padawan, and the flood of images poured forth and overwhelmed Anakin's defensive barriers as easily as if they had never existed at all.

There were no complete memories - no consciously chosen moments - just image after image of superb clarity, isolated from any substance that might have explained them, but without need for explanation. _Anakin - floating in a bacta tank with burns obscuring a full third of his lower torso, and Obi-Wan kneeling at the base of the tank, hands and forehead braced against its transparent wall, every line of his body eloquent with grief and the pain of helplessness; Anakin - flushed with fever and tossing in delirium within a firelit cavern with huge snowbanks visible beyond the cavern's opening, with Obi-Wan kneeling over him, bathing his face with a wet cloth and tucking his own cape around the shivering padawan; Anakin - face gleaming with excitement and triumph, the crimson medallion that was the traditional award for first place in the Temple's annual lightsaber tournament draped around his neck, and Obi-Wan lifting the fourteen-year-old high over his head, with a little Force-assistance, while flashing a defiant grin at members of the Jedi Council who were none too thrilled with his frivolous actions._

The images continued - blinding, confusing, brighter and faster and . . . .

"Stop!" Anakin roared. "Get out of my head, and fight, damn you!"

But Obi-Wan was nothing if not persistent, moving firmly to intercept Anakin's renewed attack, but no more than that, even though he could feel the surge of anger stirring within him; he was, after all, as imperfect as any other being and as subject to the vagaries of emotion. He would not - could not - allow his own rage to swell and grow, for that way, he knew, lay disaster for them both. "What about Padmé? Will she share your thirst for power, Padawan? Will she approve of what you've become?"

Anakin stopped - frozen and completely still - and let his fury build, as a heavy, dark, pervasive intensity settled around him, and the power of his voice was such that the little world seemed to cower before him when he raised it. "You will not speak her name again!"

Obi-Wan knew that whatever it was that held Anakin in its thrall was very close now. That cry, that seemed to have been wrung from the young man's very soul, had elements of darkness in its Force signature that were completely alien to everything the he had ever been, but, at the same time, something else was released in that primal surge of emotion - something most welcome.

Anakin still existed, somewhere within the berserker that he had become. And the only hope he had - the only alternative to a life spent as a slave to his dark Master, enslaved as surely as the nine-year-old boy discovered in a junk shop on Tatooine - lay pale and sweating in Obi-Wan's hands. In that bloodcurdling scream, the Jedi had finally seen what he had sought since arriving in the dreadful place; he had seen the Anakin of his memory.

He renewed his resolve that he would not leave this place without the young man who had been the focus of most of his life.

"Let me take you to her, Padawan," said Obi-Wan, barely audible against a tremor that shook the valley. "She lives. I swear it."

Anakin, however, was deep in the grip of the power that had invaded his spirit in the months since he had deserted his Master, and, although there was a part of him that wished to accept the Master's words as truth, it was a part completely subjugated to the strength of will that controlled him.

"I don't believe you," he said finally, flatly, not bothering to conceal his hostility, but his lightsaber, though still grasped in his hands, was lowered now, its tip near the rock-strewn soil.

Obi-Wan studied the face of the young man whom he had once known so well and inhaled slowly, deeply. Very deliberately, he stood and extinguished his own blade, taking a step forward before dropping to one knee before his former apprentice. "I speak only the truth, Anakin. Padmé lives and awaits your return. Come with me now, away from this place, away from the darkness that has blinded you to the light. I swear to you, on my honor as a Jedi, that she lives, and you know I would never break such an oath. If you don't believe me, then take up your blade and strike me down. You are my padawan, and my life is pledged to protect you. If this is the only way I can do it, the only way to prove that what I say is truth, then so be it. Do what you must."

Anakin stood absolutely motionless, staring down into the eyes of his former Master, the blade in his hands slowly rising, trembling as if it were the object of a great struggle, and the silence was suddenly deafening.

 

X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X X*X*X*X*X

The Emperor Palpatine was forced to grant a grudging respect to young Master Kenobi; by the dark power, the little bastard had courage, and then some. And he also possessed great cunning - more, certainly, than the Dark Lord had given him credit for.

He would not have believed that the Jedi would have been able to find the emotional key with which to undermine the extreme training measures that had been used to indoctrinate young Skywalker.

The Sith paused, and allowed himself the tiniest moment of regret. If Jinn - that great, interfering lout - had kept his busybody tendencies to himself all those times over the years, Kenobi would have belonged to the Sith long since, and what an apprentice he would have made.

Young Skywalker, of course, would prove to be quite adequate, and events that would soon be put in motion would increase his value exponentially, but Kenobi? Palpatine sighed, for he knew something about the Jedi that was known to only one other person; he too had seen the Force aura that had clung to the boy since he was merely a padawan, an aura that the Sith believed to be completely unprecedented.

To break such a man would have been the ultimate accomplishment of his life.

Pity, he thought now. All that was left was to kill him, a terrible waste of ability, of course, but there was really no choice.

The Sith closed his eyes and extended his consciousness through the Dark Force to the spot where his oh so treacherous - and helplessly vacillating - young apprentice stood looking down at a mask of total serenity, a mask that concealed a conspiratorial leer, or so the Sith chose to believe.

Strangely enough, this deliberately narrow vision comprised the Dark Lord's only real weakness, and it would be many years before anyone would recognize and understand it. It was a true blind spot. Palpatine/Sidious simple could not believe in true goodness; could not conceive of honesty and unselfishness and compassion being the only motives necessary to spur decent people to live their lives in a certain fashion.

It would ultimately defeat him, but it would not happen today.

It was time for fate to take a hand, to intervene in this most touching moment of communion between Jedi Master and fallen padawan. Palpatine allowed himself a small, glacial smile as he stretched out his fingers.

*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X*X X*X*X*

Obi-Wan barely managed to suppress a shudder as he felt the surge of dark power, and there could be no doubt that Anakin felt it too, as the scarlet blade rose higher, and the young man's entire body seemed to vibrate, as if straining against a monstrous wind.

"Get up," said the youth, through clenched teeth. "Get up now, or die on your knees."

But the Jedi remained motionless. "You won't strike me down, Anakin. Not like this. I won't - I can't believe that."

He was surprised when Anakin laughed, a bitter, brittle sound, heavy with something that spoke of the death of hope. "I've done far worse, Master mine. You, at least, are still a warrior. I've struck down those who had no means of defense, and only because they took a wrong step at the wrong time. Why should I balk at killing you?"

"Did you enjoy it?"

"What?" Anakin was obviously unprepared for the question.

"When you killed them, did you enjoy it?"

"Not exactly."

Slowly, Obi-Wan stood, his lightsaber still deactivated, though still in his hand. "What did you feel?"

Anakin studied the Jedi's face, looking for some sign of condemnation, but finding nothing beyond mild interest. "Nothing. I felt nothing. They were of no importance."

"Because they were powerless and defenseless."

"Because they allowed themselves to be used, because they chose not to fight back."

Obi-Wan's eyes were filled with shadows. "Because they were helpless - like slaves."

And the desperate anger flared then, creating a fierce brilliance deep within crystal blue depths, but the lurid crimson blade remained suspended, trembling - but restrained.

But the density of the atmosphere around them was suddenly so thick with malice that breathing became momentarily impossible for both of them, as a great, ominous rumble - a deep-throated growl - erupted from the bowels of the planet, and a sudden violent upthrust of the ground beneath them sent both crashing to their knees, amid an explosive tempest of bitter, heavy clouds. Obi-Wan threw himself forward in desperation as he fell, not knowing why he felt compelled to do so, knowing only that he must grasp the hand of his former apprentice before it was too late.

His fingers closed on nothing but air, and he swore a violent Huttish oath, as he tried to see through the murk, reaching out through the Force but finding that even that ordinarily redoubtable sense seemed remote, almost inaccessible.

He reached once more and felt the grip of strong fingers - inhumanly strong fingers - close over his hand, allowing him to extend the second to grope for and find the other hand, the one that was still warm and living.

Around them, there arose a huge, deafening roar, accompanied by a violent upheaval, and the Jedi felt himself dragged forward into a swirl of almost total darkness. Somehow, as he slid, he managed to twist his body and brace his feet against the pull, but by the time he was able to bring himself to a halt, the enormous drag pulling at his arms was almost unbearable.

He was still unsure of what exactly had happened, but he knew, beyond any doubt, that his hands were all that stood between his former apprentice and certain death, even though he had no idea how he knew that.

He held on with every ounce of his strength and whatever Force enhancement he was able to access, but he was alarmed to realize that his connection to the great energy source was diminished somehow and was slipping further away with each moment.

"Anakin," he gasped, trying to clear the heavy dust and fumes from his throat, "can you see? Can you tell what happened?"

"Oh," came the answer, strangely subdued, "I can certainly see, Obi-Wan. Better than I might like."

"What . . ." But he had no chance to finish the question, as a lateral shift in the ground on which he lay dislodged his precarious hold and sent him lurching forward, until he was able to dig his boots into the stony soil and grind to a stop, as he felt the weight on his arms and hands increase dramatically as Anakin seemed to drop over some previously unsuspected edge and dangle and sway precariously.

When he dared breathe again, he looked up to find that the heavy fumes which had obscured his vision had thinned somewhat, allowing him to see what lay before him and below him.

He was crouched at the very lip of a steep precipice - a precipice which either hadn't existed at all just moments before, or else had been so narrow neither of them had noticed it. Now it formed a chasm, varying in width from a few feet to several meters, of a depth impossible to gauge, as the bottom was obscured beneath a fiery, viscous liquid, the surface of which was only occasionally visible through heavy concentrations of dark fumes.

His hands were the only thing that were preventing Anakin from plunging into that fiery pit, and he was virtually helpless to maintain his position as he felt himself beginning to slide forward.

He looked down at the face of his former padawan and saw the tragedy of hopelessness settle in the young man's eyes and felt his own rage rise within him, rage against the injustice of the moment, against the bitterness of the practical jokes Fate seemed to love to play, and, most of all, against his own impotence.

"No," he said suddenly, twisting his body even as he began to slide, and maneuvering until he was lying full length at the edge of the abyss, his arms fully extended as his grip on Anakin's hands tightened. "No, you will not die like this. I won't have it; the Sith will not take another from me."

But Anakin, from his vantage point, could see what Obi-Wan could not, or - more likely - would not. The ground beneath the Jedi's body was already crumbling; it would not support the weight of either of them for much longer, certainly not the weight of both. And he could see something else, as well; something that he had forgotten, somehow, and he marveled for a moment that he could have ever allowed himself to do so.

Obi-Wan would never let him go. And, more than that, never had let him go.

How was it, he asked himself, that he could have allowed himself to be convinced otherwise?

And the answer was immediately obvious, as he sensed the thick bands of dark energy that surrounded them and that would prevent Obi-Wan from drawing on his connection to the Force to levitate both of them out of danger.

There was only dark power available now, dark power that Obi-Wan would never touch, even if resisting meant his own death.

Anakin managed to still himself and looked up to meet his Master's eyes.

"Master?" His voice was steady, almost serene.

"I'm a little busy, Padawan," came the response, slightly breathless, as the Jedi shifted to try to increase his leverage sufficiently to drag the younger man to safety. "Can it wait?"

"No, it can't. Please stop what you're doing," Anakin replied. "It's useless anyway. The ground beneath you is giving way."

"Then I'll . . ."

"Master, please."

The young man almost smiled as he noted that Obi-Wan's small sigh was almost a huff of impatience. "Please what?"

"Please give me this one moment and your attention."

"But . . ."

"It's the only thing left that you can give me."

And Anakin saw new resolve form in those luminous, changeable eyes. "No, it's not."

With a strength born of desperation and bottomless stubbornness, Anakin somehow managed to disengage his natural hand and reach upward to touch his fingers to Obi-Wan's face. It was a gesture of surprising tenderness.

"Tell her . . . I came back, Master," he said softly. "Tell her, in the end, that I was here."

"You'll tell her yourself," Obi-Wan insisted, struggling to recapture the hand that still lingered against his chin. "I won't let you go."

And Anakin smiled to acknowledge the truth of it, hearing the rest of the pledge, that Obi-Wan would not say - openly. If both could not be saved, neither would be saved. "I know you won't. You were always there to catch me. But this time, I catch you."

And, at that moment, he dropped every mental shield he had ever erected, and directed his full consciousness into that of the man sprawled out above him, allowing every small scrap of love and warmth and affection that he had ever felt for his Master to pour through their reawakened bond. It was the only way he could be sure that Obi-Wan was sufficiently distracted to prevent his interference in what Anakin knew he must do. Unfortunately, the open link would prove to be excruciatingly painful for the Jedi, but it was unavoidable, and, when it was done, the Jedi would still live, and that, after all, was the whole point.

Anakin smiled and reached into the dark power, the one that he had little compunction about using - he had, after all, been using it freely for months - and pushed, at the exact moment that he tore his mechanical hand from Obi-Wan's grasp. It was not a particularly powerful push; his connection to the power was tenuous, at best, almost certainly due to psychic obstacles put in place by his dark Master, but it was sufficient for his needs. It shoved Obi-Wan back away from the lip of the crevice as the former padawan began a slow tumble into the pit.

Obi-Wan recovered quickly and threw himself forward, his mind screaming his denial, but it was far too late.

He heard the whispered farewell in his mind, a split second before he was blasted by an intolerable explosion of pain, unbelievable agony such that sanity could not endure it, and he collapsed to the ground, his mind bruised and bleeding with neural shock, and silent, eternally silent, in the wake of the immediate brutal severance of a Master/padawan link that had finally been confronted with a trauma it could not survive.

Deep within himself, something shattered, never to be mended, and Obi-Wan wept with huge, racking sobs, as he lost his grasp on consciousness.

 

****************** ****************** *****************

 

Palpatine stood well back from the rim of the chasm, and watched as the hideous thing - which had recently been the body of a lovely young human male - was loaded aboard the medical droneship, after the dark lord had retrieved the twisted lump of flesh from the molten pit into which it had fallen.

He had timed his rescue perfectly, allowing just enough time to pass to be certain that any memory the boy might have of the moments leading up to his fall into the crevice would be obliterated, leaving his mind - providing it survived at all - fallow for accepting the seeds which the dark lord would plant there, lovely, twisted, fabricated memories, much like those he had created to show his young apprentice how his beloved wife had perished, at the hands of the Jedi.

The boy was near death, of course, and it would require the combined technology of the Geonosians' droid-building skills, and the cloning methods practiced in his own facilities to create a new body to house the apprentice's mind and Force abilities. But oh, it was sweet pleasure to imagine how pure and undiluted those dark abilities would be.

The Emporer turned and looked down at the figure curled almost at his feet and smiled. Impulsively, he knelt and, with brutish, cold fingers, lifted the chin of young Master Kenobi so he could study the Jedi's face.

"You don't know it yet, my Jedi friend," he said with great satisfaction, "but you did me an enormous favor today. You helped me find the way to seal his fate. He is now forever lost to the Jedi and to you. But you, of course, won't be around to see it."

He paused, and drew his thumb across Obi-Wan's jawline. "You could have been mine, you know," the dark lord continued, a flash of rage - veined with dark desire - visible in his hungry eyes. "If your Master had stayed out of things that didn't concern him, you would have been mine, when you were just a child. You would have been my greatest masterpiece."

He rose and backed away from the Jedi, who was still locked away in the depths of neural shock.

"Now," said the Sith, "you're just dead meat."

And he extended his hands, gathering the dark power to him, feeling the heat of it surround him, allowing it to build and swell . . .

And felt the chill seize him, coalescing from nothing - a presence that could not possibly exist in this time and place, a presence unfelt and forgotten for almost two decades.

There was no visible manifestation - no dim form that rose to confront him, no glowing figure composed of light. No nothing. Not even a sound.

But there was a message - brief, succinct, unembellished.

_What you take with you from this place is only that which you already possessed. What you seek to seize will never belong to you. Take your pathetic prize, and go._

Palpatine felt rage wash through him, gathered himself, and hurled great bolts of Force lightening toward the man sprawled helpless at his feet, and saw the unimaginable power simply vanish, absorbed perhaps - repelled maybe - by a barrier that could not be seen or sensed or breached.

He tried twice more, with the same result, and then moved forward, determined to gather up the Jedi and take him away, in order to dispose of him at leisure.

But that turned out to be unacceptable as well, as a huge, invisible bolt of some kind of electrical energy slammed into him as he stepped forward, and deposited him, with absolutely no respect for his dignity, firmly, painfully, on his backside.

 _That is your final warning_. The message was unambiguous. _He is not yours to take_.

Finally, seething with frustration, the dark lord spun and strode to his waiting ship. "Someday," he snarled, throwing it back toward Kenobi.

And the vessel lifted off smartly, bearing away the meager remnants of a once-lithe and beautiful young body, and the dark lord that would mold and recreate those remains into a killing machine of unprecedented power and great wickedness, a machine that would remember nothing of love or truth or honor. And all that the young man had once been would be lost, except for the memories of those who would hold him close to their hearts in the guise of the man he had once been.

Otherwise, Anakin Skywalker would exist no more.

And behind the ship, in the ruin of a once beautiful valley, a scarred and wounded young Jedi Master fought his way back toward consciousness, as a disembodied voice spoke one single word. _Never._

And the silence fell, as the lurid lights of the approaching storm drew ever closer.

*************** The End ********************


End file.
